Emma Lovell’s poem Pick me appeared here in May 2011.
Under milky fingernails
By Emma Lovell
By Emma Lovell
It was still warm and gold tinted
the day I almost kissed
your sunlit ear.
Then followed you
through hissing leaves
and simmering bark,
and felt the beautiful smack
of your ponytail
as you turned your head to stare
at an oozing bird egg
recently fallen
beneath a swollen sky.
I was still half-grown the day
silhouette saplings bent lithe bodies
promisingly
as I sweated into your palm,
your skin slightly smooth,
and we scattered
mottled shadows and frightened moths
when we scrambled through damp moss.
We cupped our breath to smell
the red berries we had eaten
and blew on the sleeping shells of beetles
to release reluctant wings.
You were still a plump
thirteen the day you dipped
bud-like toes into rushing water
and I watched the heat leave
your just-emptied shoe,
your black toe imprints
a dark heart
ingrained on your sole.
And beneath heavy ferns I stared,
legs crossed, as an ant dodged the
white hairs on your shin.
And you teased
an old scab on your knee with
black crescents of dirt
under milky fingernails.
I have read and re-read and re-read this poem. So much here that is just beautiful.